If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,84

it that.”

“Get dressed. We’re celebrating with some pizza!” Jordan proclaimed. As I dug through a drawer for clothes, Jordan searched on his phone for evidence of this viral campaign. “Oh, I found something.” He began to read highlights out loud. “It says you are an inspiration and a testament to perseverance . . . Unconventional beauty . . . You dance with a grace that moves people . . . that you are a role model to young girls . . . I guess a teenage girl in LA started this petition and it spread like wildfire.” He looked up at me. “Bird, this is amazing!”

“I can’t believe it,” I exclaimed.

“I can. You better hold onto your big red hair. We are in for a ride with you,” he smirked.

ASH

I FELT AROUND my bed and let out a sigh of relief when I found the space beside me was empty. I didn’t remember much about the night before and there was a chance someone would be beside me. I rolled like a log until I hit the end of the bed and barely got to my feet.

The chill in the air reminded me I was naked, and I threw on pair of sweatpants hanging from a lamp. Then I smelled coffee. Was it really coffee? Yes, I never smelled coffee unless there was actually coffee being brewed. I like the smell of coffee. I wouldn’t have minded it coming to me here and there. Unlike licorice, which was always a part of my emotional responses even though I hated that shit.

Shit. If I wasn’t the one making coffee, then someone else was. I slid into the bathroom. The used condom in my toilet confirmed I was not alone. I sighed, swept my fingers through my hair, and knotted it above my head. Then after one big roll of the eyes, I made the long walk to the kitchen, thinking of a way to get whoever the hell it was out of here.

“Morning,” the girl said all cutesy like she was some fucking high schooler. She was wearing my shirt. I hated when they did that.

“Morning. I have some appointments this morning. I’ll call you a cab.” Her face dropped. “There are to-go cups in that cupboard over there.” I gestured to the general vicinity of the kitchen as if that would help her.

I opened the front door of my condo, picked up the Times, flipped through the sections and my day got worse. Like punch to the balls worse. Licorice.

There she was, dressed like an exotic bird, perched over some well-muscled dancer’s head. Annalise “Bird” Campbell the caption read. So much had changed in the five years since I had left LA and gone to New York City to start over. One thing didn’t—the way that girl made me feel. Except now she was a woman, and she had become all the things she wanted, and she probably hated me, if she thought of me at all.

That was the goal. She had to hate me. She had to erase me. The burden I had to bear was that I couldn’t erase her. And the pointless pussy parade didn’t change anything. I thought one day I might find someone else like her, but she couldn’t be matched, not even close.

“The cab?”

“Huh?” I asked, forgetting that nameless groupie was still there.

“You were going to call one?”

The busty brunette stood over me as I sat at my dining room table.

“Oh, yeah. Um . . .” I fumbled around for my phone.

“Forget it, I’ll just grab one myself.” I think I was supposed to be apologetic, but I was relieved she was finally leaving. The door sort of slammed behind her and I was again able to consume myself in thoughts of Bird. They were always a storm, love and regret, pleasure and pain, pride and shame. Even when she wasn’t part of my life, thinking of her fired me up. I still felt the all-consuming heat. But the sweet taste I used to get on my tongue was replaced with the sharp one of licorice. I thought about what Miller told me, the look of pure devastation on her face when he told her the news. I thought about how my last words to her were the promise of a life together. I mourned over the fact that the only way I could be good for her was to hurt her.

If only we had met later, maybe things could have been different. But